I write a lot. Sometimes it gets weird.

How I Might Have Just Become the Newest Urban Legend

[AUDIO NOTE: I performed this piece this past weekend at Anna David’s True Tales of Lust and Love (also starring Melissa Villasenor, Morgan Walsh, and Claire Titelman.) I highly recommend listening to this tale in all its mortifying glory — it’s better with the sound of an audience screech-laughing in horror. Here’s the link to the recording of the show. (On iTunes here in the 11/12 show.) I’m the third story.]

[WARNING: This story is not for the squeamish.]

So I’m super pregnant. And with that comes all these horrible things. Like, I can’t feel my fingertips – haven’t been able to in weeks. It’s carpal tunnel, it apparently happens to pregnant women, and it’s shitty. My gums bleed when I brush my teeth, I’ve lost all the hair on my arms, I am down to one position in bed where I can sleep without my legs going numb, I’ve got this cold I’m not allowed to take anything for other than hot baths and pity parties, and there’s a parasite that lives inside of me that absorbs all of my nutrients. Or as my El Salvadorian housekeeper likes to say: “Your baby is stealing your beauty.”

But it’s been pretty rough lately. The other week in the space of an hour I had to put my beloved sixteen-year old cat to sleep, and then I called my mom to cry to her but instead she told me about five other horrible things that were happening in my family and I got a call in the middle of that from my doctor to inform me that I have gestational diabetes.

And I realize this is like the poor man’s Tig Notaro right here. “Thank you, I have gestational diabetes. Thank you.” But I’m telling you this because it factors into the story.

I have gestational diabetes – “Sir, I’ll be okay, it’s okay. It’s just gestational diabetes.” – but it means I have to test my blood by pricking my finger four times a day and I have to eat these special meals five times a day and I can’t sleep because it makes my body go numb and my husband is out of town and my cat is dead and I’m eating saltines and string cheese for lunch and I have to perform a bloodletting every four hours and I’m NOT ALLOWED SCOTCH so my friend and I go for a nice, long massage.

We went to this place I’d been to a few times in my neighborhood. It’s no-frills, but tries to be serene and namaste and has that co-ed quiet room where we all sit uncomfortably in robes waiting our turn, pretending we aren’t all sitting together with nothing separating our naked bodies but two robes and a pile of In Touch Magazines.

This place doesn’t have individual rooms, so you’re in this big room with tents that separate, like a dark funhouse. And I never like the separated tents, because you end up listening to someone else’s massage, because inevitably there’s that person who has no concept of other people who’s like, “Ungh! Yeah. That’s it. Ooooooffffunh.”

So the guy leads me to my tent section, tells me to take off my robe and climb up on the table and that he’ll be right back. So I do, even though it’s very difficult to climb up on a massage table when you’re eight months pregnant, but I manage to sort of shuffle-scoot between the sheet and the heavy blanket and as I scoot I realize, I’m wet.

I’m wet but also, it’s like I found a spot I didn’t dry off somehow after I took my shower. But I know that’s not possible, because I showered more than fifteen minutes ago. But it’s dark in there, and I’m already on my side, so I kind of rub at where I’m wet, which is all around this part here of my hips and butt and I’m like, “This is kind of like a gel, maybe I got into some lotion or… but I don’t know. I can’t feel my fingers, so I’m not sure what I’m touching here. So maybe I’ll just smell it.

And it smells like semen.

And that is because it is semen.

Let me tell you what happens to you at this point. First of all, I’m sure natural instinct is to flip the fuck off that table. But it took me almost thirty seconds to even get INTO this position, and I’m several feet off the ground so there’s no flinging this body anywhere, so I sort of sit up on my knees, and I’m trying to see in the dark but it looks like – yes, I’m rolling around in a spunk puddle, and it’s on my hands and it’s on my body and it’s in front of me and –-

Basically what happened is my brain split in half and began trying to reason with itself.

“No, this can’t be what is happening.”
“It is. Try not to freak out, but you are covered in anonymous sperm.”
“No, no. That’s not. No, maybe we should just lie back down and go to sleep. Maybe we’re sleeping and this is all a dream!“

And the masseuse opens the curtain at this point and sees me naked on my knees, giant tits and belly facing him and he’s like, “Do you need more time?” And I’m like, “Uh! Um… no, it’s just… uh… there’s something…“ – you guys, I don’t know what made me want to be polite in this situation, maybe it was the Enya or the romantic lighting, but mostly I was thinking of all the other people in their tents around me and while part of me is like “NO, I NEED YOU TO COME IN HERE AND DEAL WITH THE FACT THAT I AM COVERED IN JIZZ.”

So the masseuse comes into the tent to investigate and at the same time I pull up the blanket to shield myself, and then I realize it’s all over the blanket too because I’ve been just rolling around in it, so now it’s who knows where, and I drop the blanket and just naked flop out of the bed going, “I’m just going to wash my hands while you… um… I think maybe I should wash my hands.”

The masseuse is inspecting the sheets, and this is where some part of my brain is like, “Wait, what if your water broke? What if that’s all it is? Or just some kind of wet spot you made when you got on the bed? Or what if this is just another wondrous part of pregnancy?

‘When did you get your pre-sperm? That’s magical. I ate mine with my placenta.’

What if this is all your fault and came out of you? Then you are going to feel like such an idiot.”

Just as I go to inspect between my legs some rational part of my brain screams, “STOP! DO NOT TOUCH YOURSELF. YOUR HUSBAND IS OUT OF TOWN AND WHILE YOU CAN’T GET PREGNANT AGAIN RIGHT NOW DO YOU REALLY WANT TO STICK YOUR FINGER INSIDE YOURSELF CONSIDERING WHAT IT HAS JUST BEEN TOUCHING?” And I am grateful for that part of my brain.

I go wash my hands, and I find my friend, and I’m still feeling like somehow I need to do something. I stammer to her, “I don’t… I don’t really. Um. I need some advice.” Like I’m calling Martha Stewart. “Hi, I’m naked and covered in jizz. Club soda or…?”

So I tell my friend what happened, and this is how you know she’s a good friend. She goes, “Okay, well, that’s disgusting and so we are leaving right now.”

And here’s how you know she’s a great friend. Because I go, “Really? Man, I was kind of looking forward to a massage.”

And she doesn’t even bat an eye, she’s just like, “Okay, yeah, then you’re getting a massage. But you’re getting a fucking great massage. Let’s go talk to the manager.”

So we’re in the front area, which is not where people in robes are supposed to be, and we’re explaining what happened, and the masseuse finds us out here and he looks pale as he says, “Yeah, that guy who was just in there needs to be X’ed. It’s everywhere in there. It soaked all the way through to every sheet.” And the manager explains to me that they put twelve sheets down in the morning on the tables, and as each client leaves they pull back a sheet or two and then move on. And my friend and I are like, “Oh. Okay.” All CSI. “As long as we know why this happened. Okay, then. Alright.” Somehow this placates us.

The manager tells me to take a shower while they prepare a new room for me. I go take a cold shower, because the water wasn’t warm anymore at this point and I’m trying to Silkwood myself but mostly I’m just thinking, “That sheet had not been changed. I was rolling around in a lake and this guy’s trying to make me think this was two sheets down? No.”

The manager meets me in the quiet room and he’s like, “Again, so sorry. The owner isn’t here, but after your massage you and I can talk and we’ll figure out what to do about the situation, but please just… try to enjoy your massage.”

So I climb onto a new table and I have the same masseuse and he’s mortified and I’m mortified and it is awkward. But I use this time to think about what to do. I am momentarily proud of myself for not running from that place screaming, because I need to get my head straight and figure out my rights.

“Okay. I’m going to make sure we file an incident report, and we’re going to sign things and agree on what happened and maybe I can get that guy’s name so I can find out if he has… if he has any STDs because okay, I can’t get pregnant, but, can I get syphilis? Hepatitis? At least one of the heps, right? That seems possible. What could I have maybe just given this baby? Do I need to call the doctors today? Will they make me get an emergency c-section because I’m a risk?”

And this is when I remember that moments before I went to get my massage, I gave myself a blood sugar test. Right before I walked into that room, I pricked my finger with a needle and bled on a stick. And then used that same hand to scoop up some jizz and sniff it.

I am trying not to panic, but I am convinced that I have just become an urban legend. “Welcome to the wonderful world of AIDS!” “Did you hear about the woman who got AIDS when she was completely alone?”

I’m feeling very sorry for myself at this point and quite worried and I just want to mention that this guy was giving me a terrible massage. He’s skipping around, not really doing any part that – well, now that I think about it, he skipped any part that had come in contact with the semen, which is smart, really – but he’s kind of half-assing it and sniffing constantly and I don’t want to open my eyes because I’m now convinced that he’s crying and rubbing my thighs, thinking about how he just gave his last handjob in the back of this day spa and now this pregnant lady has ruined his life.

And then he says we’re done. And let me tell you, not only was that massage shitty and I thought about AIDS the entire time, but he stopped it at thirty minutes instead of the full hour. The injustices just keep coming.

Then I’m putting my clothes back on when the receptionist comes up to me and gives me this huge hug. She says, “You are a beautiful goddess creating life in your most special vessel. I am so sick for you. This is the most disgusting thing… I’m so insulted… I’m mortified for you. How you could even just…? And your baby…I don’t know how you’re surviving.” So I got away from her.

The manager takes me to this back room, sits down next to a stack of blank gift certificates and says, “We don’t really have anything in place to do when something like this happens because something like this has never happened.” So I tell him I’d like to file a report and I’d like the client’s name in case I end up coming down with gestational herpes. I mean, am I supposed to call the cops? “Ma’am, can you describe the ejaculate that came into contact with your ridiculously pregnant body? Any distinguishing characteristics? Wait. Did you smell it? We maybe have somewhere to go if you smelled it.”

The guy’s like, “Well, I don’t think we can give you the client’s name, but know that he’s not allowed here anymore. We have his record, we can see his past history and anything he’s done here before –” WHICH MAKES ME THINK THIS HAS HAPPENED BEFORE “–but why don’t you write down what happened and I’ll email it to you and that way you have a record of it?” And I say, “I don’t need you to email me my own writing on what happened. That means nothing. I’m going to write a statement, you’re going to write a statement, we’re going to both sign it and then I’m going to call my doctors and see what we need to do next.” I’m being very official here and I’m kind of pissed that they aren’t more appreciative that I’m not just running around through the quiet room screaming, “THIS PLACE IS MADE OF SEMEN!”

So we write these things up and then his computer crashes and then I have to get behind his desk and try to find the documents, but it turns out he hadn’t saved them, so we have to write it all over again and then print it and sign it and I’ve written this very detailed, very clinical version of events, trying not to use all caps at any point, and I’m writing times and dates and my name and then I look down and this guy’s written:

“Male client before pregnant lady client ejaculated everywhere and she got it all up on her.”

I mean, yeah, I guess that’s all that happened.

I take all the cash I have in my wallet, which is like twelve bucks or something, and I say, “This is all I have, but you can give it to the masseuse…” And the manager waves it away. “Please, ma’am, no. Of course you don’t have to do that,” he says. And I very stoically put my money away as he says, “We are just so sorry about this. You’re a loyal client and we’d hate to lose your future business over this, so just to make everything a little less stressful for you, and to apologize for things, we’d like to offer you a fifty percent discount on the massage you just had.”

And I just went, “Well, no, I won’t be paying that.”

And he goes, “Right, yes, of course.”

And sometimes, you guys, when I think back over this, that becomes the biggest injustice of this entire story! And yes, I realize my thirty-minute shitty massage came with a free ass facial, but I still can’t believe ON ANY LEVEL that they thought I’d pay for this! And if he didn’t want to accept the tip is it because THEY KNOW that guy was jacking someone off right before I went in there? WHY DO WE LET THINGS BE CO-ED? WHY IS SPERM ALLOWED TO JUST BE WHEREVER? Check under your table, ladies! If you find any semen, please let the bartender know so you can get half off your martini.

So I go outside and call my husband and do the Clare Danes ugly cry, spitting out words like, “Semen man touching hips baby AIDS whyyyyyy.” And he calms me down and says, “You took a shower, right? Right after? Did you get it all?” And I’m like, “I DON’T KNOW! I haven’t been able to see nor touch it all in quite some time!”

My friend comes out from her massage and was like, “Yo, you know I Helen Kellered the shit out of my massage table before I got up there.” She also mentions that as a gay lady, she’s never been in contact with sperm before. “I wouldn’t have known what it was. Pam, I might have been like, ‘Oh, this must be a nice masque.’”

I call my OB/GYN and my doctor. But of course, I’ve got to tell this story to the receptionist so she can tell the doctor, and you know that yes, these women have heard it all, but they haven’t heard this. And I can tell by the way they’re taking down notes. “Imm him…And was this a massage parlor or…were you someplace… else?” One receptionist was just like, “Girl, ew. We will call you back.”

But I can’t wait. I need answers now. I’m a pretty good Googler. I can find most things on the Internet and get you an answer right away, but this one posed a particularly new challenge. Not only did I appear to be the only person this had ever happened to, I couldn’t really land on the right search words. I can tell you, without hesitation, that it’s best never to Google “ANONYMOUS SPERM ON MY ASS.”

The owner of the spa calls, telling me that they plan on changing how they do things in the tents from now on, like having lights back there and maybe not doing the sheet thing. “I’d rather not involve the police,” he says. “I mean, it’s not like the client broke the law, anyway, and I’m not sure what they can do.”

Then one of the nurses calls me and says, “The doctor would like to know why you’re rolling around on a table full of semen.” And I say, “TELL HIM THAT’S NOT HOW I NORMALLY SPEND MY SATURDAYS.”

I call the LA County something or other that deals with spas and this guy acts like I’m prank calling from a radio station. “Hey! We don’t deal with that kind of stuff,” he huffs. “We check pools and hot tubs. Whatever you do when you’re in those rooms is at your own risk.” Like there’s nothing more shady than a pre-natal massage.

The first doctor calls and he can’t even hide that he’s laughing. “Talk about an unhappy beginning! HO HO HO.” My other doctor says, “Look, you’re probably fine. And besides, anything you could possibly contract from this won’t show up for a couple of months, anyway.” And I ask, “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” And he goes, “Just try to relax and enjoy the rest of your pregnancy.”

I email the owner, trying to sound very stricken with grief, letting him know that the doctors say it’s “too soon to tell” and that I am concerned about the safety of his establishment. I make a few recommendations. I casually mention that I’d recently bought some gift certificates for some friends and now we’re all too uncomfortable to use them, and I don’t know if I’m willing to come back to this spa. I’m dropping sixteen hints because you guys I don’t know why I want him to offer me free massages for life, but it seems like the only thing that makes sense! Fuck Yelp– I could get on Facebook and contact the mega-mommies in this crazy neighborhood I’m in and that place would be shut down in seconds, and this guy hasn’t even offered me ANYTHING in exchange for what I just went through? THAT MAN HAS STILL NOT WRITTEN ME BACK OR CALLED! WHERE IS THE JUSTICE?! WHY DON’T I GET TO JUST COME ALL OVER SOMEONE’S DAY?

I tell a friend of mine about all of this, and after she finishes being horrified she starts laughing. “I’m sorry. But you really had an Ultimate White Lady Problem in that room, getting your feet rubbed, pan flutes playing, wondering if you just gave your baby AIDS through your butt.”

I tell her I’m maybe going to tell this story tonight, here, because I still feel like I have to do something, and she says, “Just for a second, I’d like you to stop and think about whether or not you want this to be the legacy of your gestation. Do you really want to possibly be known forever as the Pre-Natal Massage Spunk Lady?”

And I realized: yes, I do.

Because I have to believe this all happened for a reason. When there’s no recourse, nothing I can do— NOT EVEN ONE DAMN FREE MASSAGE, BY THE WAY. THAT I MIGHT NOT HAVE USED, AND IF I DID I WOULDN’T TELL ANYONE ABOUT. But I have to believe that this happened to make me do something. That yes, I’m a beautiful vessel creating life even as we’re all sitting here together, but I’m also falling apart and in a lot of pain and I really can’t feel my fingers and I have to think, I have to believe that this all happened because I am the chosen one, sent here to tell the world:

LIFE IS GROSS. CARRY A FLASHLIGHT.

Thank you.

[db]

[If you’d like to hear my past piece for Anna David’s True Tales, you can download the podcast on iTunes. It’s the August show with Maria Bamford, Elizabeth Laime and Christie Nittrouer. (I think I’m third in that show, too. It’s about my awkward sexual encounters during my teenage years.)]

I am SO SORRY that this happened to you. But if it had to happen to anyone, I am glad that it happened to you, because no one else could tell that story the way you did. As evidenced by the fact that I just tried to explain to my husband why I was laughing so hard and he just looked at me like I was weird and walked away.

Oh my wow. I would out them to the world big time. So gross and also “Male client before pregnant lady client ejaculated everywhere and she got it all up on her.” That was so, so funny but also, I don’t think these people grasp the seriousness of what happened. Take a black light to the place and it probably would light up like a starry sky.

For all that bad service and poor management, for all the ridicule, justice will be served. You’ll be the best, kick-assingest mom there ever was. Yeah, there’s no leap in logic there. I hope you see that.

I’m trying to come up with words to make you feel better about this, but I keep laughing. Also, I remember being 8 months pregnant and how sensitive and awful I felt so basically, I’m sorry this happened to you, but so glad you wrote about it. And finally, you need to tell us where this place is. It’s The Raven, isn’t it. I’ve never been there, but that place strikes me as a tent massage place.

You’re the second person to ask if it’s The Raven. It’s not. I’ve actually never heard of that place before, but with two unrelated mentions of it now after hearing this story, I don’t think I’ll be going there anytime soon.

Oh. My. God. That is one of the funniest things you’ve ever written, and there is some stiff competition there. That would be horrifying under normal circumstances, but while you’re pregnant and hormonal? Good Lord.

I’m so glad Avia told me to read your blog today. Possibly the best story and best advice ever. I might suggest that with that flashlight you also carry hand sanitizer. And mace. Just to be on the safe side.

Also, just so you feel better, AIDS dies outside of the body within a minute so it’s very unlikely that you got the HIV from random spunk.

3) Even if the health department doesn’t have rules about handjobs in a massage studio, they must have rules about changing the linens between clients. The idea that they just put down layers and peel them back all day long is revolting.

4) A man who gives massages professionally is a masseur, not a masseuse. (But a man who gives professionally is a prostitute.)

Hi Pamie, I don’t know you but I sincerely hope that you don’t let the humor we find in your story undermine the trauma of what happened to you. You absolutely need to lawyer up. That spa is creating a very real health hazard apart from the fact that they are performing illegal sex-acts.

That salon is absolutely disgraceful. Something like that in the UK would earn such an establishment a big shut down/cease and desist on health and safety grounds. Personally, I’d sue, go to the papers and local radio and contact your local political representative.

Pam, I’m so, so, so sorry that happened to you, but OMG, this is the funniest freaking post I’ve ever read!!!
I’m gonna say a prayer that you and your baby are healthy, and I’m sure you both will be fine.
But, seriously, I’m alone in my house right now and I literally spit the fucking coffee out of my mouth and all over my computer screen with my first explosive laugh. And I laughed out loud all through it. I scared the shit out of my cat.
Thank you so much for sharing this.
LMFAO!!!
Best wishes,
Tamara

Holy Shit Pam! First, that was hilarious and awful at the same time. I’m quite impressed that you DIDN’T run around screaming… second I’m sure you’ll be perfectly fine and there’s nothing to worry about other than ewwwwwwwwww and third… You should get the spa to pay for the co-pay for your next appointment when you get checked out by your doctor, just to continue the paper trail. I’m not saying you should sue necessarily because while I think they were negligent you don’t have any damages other than emotional and I’m not one to champion suing just for the sake of it but I’d want to arm myself with some ammo just in case.

I just read the post you linked too. OMG I was laughing so hard at the ER voice overs. My special favourite was ‘thats right its so good you’ll shit your neighbours pants!’ Also completely horrified by your massage experience.

This is the most gorgeously fucked up thing I’ve ever read. I’m equal parts so sorry for you and so happy to have read this. So I guess what I’m saying here is that if it’s any consolation, your horror made my morning. Silver lining?

Oh my…I don’t even know if I find this funny or horrifying…I’m pregnant and my husband keeps going on about how I need a massage and now well now I don’t think I could ever get one. I think you handled yourself so admirably and I am sorry this happened to you but it was a brilliant blog entry.

No, go get one! Just don’t get one at a place that considers a pre-natal massage to be a massage that includes a giant pillow. There are places like wellness centers with people who are trained to focus on the crazy places pregnancy makes you hurt.

My face actually hurts from trying not to laugh. I’m so sorry you went through this but you, lady, are a brilliant story teller and I am sitting here in a medical waiting room beet-faced looking like I’m in pain trying not to guffaw out loud.

OMG, please yelp the SHIT out of this place. I would not want to go anywhere that a) doesn’t sanitize their tables, b) gives h-jays and c) DOESN’T EVEN GIVE YOU FREE SHIT WHEN YOU’RE PREGNANT AND ROLL AROUND IN SEMEN.

I am suddenly feeling less weird about my habit of keeping undies on when I get a massage though.

I didn’t laugh at all while reading this. (No offense, because I think your writing is very good and I often laugh when reading it.) I just felt very bad for you because, although I’m sure you’ll be just fine, I can only imagine how frightened you became the more you thought about what had just happened, especially because you’re feeling vulnerable and extra protective of yourself right now. I would guess that everyone else finding humor in this has helped reassure you that you’ll be fine… which is a good thing, of course.

Yes, it was upsetting, and I probably got more worked up about it once I left the place (note: Homeland ugly cry once I got to call my husband), and it was a stressful Sunday of wigging myself out, but you’re right — other people’s laughter helps me keep perspective and remember that although what happened was nasty, it could’ve been worse. My dietician told me about accidentally getting stabbed with infected needles, and it helped put things into perspective.

But yes, the entire world feels like a threat, these days. When I’m on the highway all I can think is, “WHY DO WE DO THIS EVERY DAY THIS IS A DEATH TRAP WE ARE ALL GONNA DIE RIGHT NOW.”

Not to distract from the (horrible, awful, no good but crazy funny) story at hand (RIMSHOT) but husband? Has this been mentioned? Did I miss it? Whatever the case, congrats about All the Things (except the Surprise Sperm, the gift that …ugh, I can’t even try to finish (RIMSHOT) funny, surprise sperm is always awful.

I just wanted to say that the audience did not give this the laughs it deserved. There were a couple of places where I was almost crying and it seemed really silent in the room. I read it after you posted it here just to be sure and, yep, I was right. Perhaps they were new to your particular brand of hilarity/mortification.

Ha. Well, first, it was a new piece for me, so it wasn’t as rehearsed as it could’ve been. Secondly, the recording was more of me than the audience, which is in a bar and not in a theatre setting, so there’s some laughs you can’t hear, but also it’s an intimate room. But thank you so much for listening! When I listened to it I couldn’t believe how breathless I got at points. Pregnancy lungs are not a performer’s friend.

PS: I don’t buy that Beyonce was singing and dancing with Blue Ivy up in her uterus at like, six months or whatever. Come on. I can’t even get a yogurt from the bottom shelf without having to take a breather.

Barely knowing who Beyonce is (aside from a giant metal chicken), I found ‘Beyonce was singing and dancing with Blue Ivy up in her uterus’ an extremely arresting, not to mention disturbing, mental image.

Oh, WORD. I get winded just trying go sing hymns at church right now while sitting still. Ugh.

Also, girl, I feel you. I’m 36 weeks with my first and currently have horrifying carpal tunnel in my left hand. Like, my left hand is nearly useless. Plus I’m doing the finger stabbing thing (though I’m down to twice a day on that) because I refused to take the longer test after failing the first on account of my passing out when I have blood taken. Hang in there. We’re almost done, right? Please tell me we’re almost done…

If anybody else in the entire world had told me that story I wouldn’t have believed it, Pam. God, that was horrific, and yet very funny. I can’t begin to imagine how much I would have freaked out if I was in your shoes! I’m due a good pre-natal massage, so yeah, I’ll be sticking to a specialist ‘maternity only’ place…

I just have to say that I am very sorry to hear this happenning to you, I personally do not find this funny at all, I am a student at Cortiva school for massage therapy in WA and I find what the LMP did to be disgusting, the way you were treated was unjustified and you have every right to act and feel the way you did, I don’t know where you are but here in WA, something like that happens and the establishment gets shut down for various health violations which you mentioned from the way they change their sheets, to how they handled the whole bodily fluids, and not to mention how everyone whom you went to just laughed at this I’m left dumbfounded as to how people can be so ignorant and stupid, I’m really sorry this happened to you

Sadly, the first thing I did when I stopped laughing was double-checked where you are located to make sure this was not someplace I might end up. And, as a pediatrician, though not yours, I am pretty sure your baby will be fine.

Honestly, I hate the idea of a lawsuit because of how ridiculously often Americans use them. But this is a special case. If you can, take them to court… you could pay for your baby’s University that way.

I’m a massage therapist. I am so sorry this happened to you. I don’t know what state you are in. In Texas, you can report the therapist and/or massage establishment to the Dept of Health. They will conduct a full investgation. I cannot believe they do not change the complete set of sheets. That is unexceptable. Please look into to reporting them.

This has got to be the first random semen story I have ever read. Will add that to my list of firsts.

Thanks for sharing this. A lot of people would be so horrified that they would never share, let alone put such a humorous spin on it. I figure in life while bad sometimes icky things happen to me aren’t fun when they are happening, they DO happen to be terrific stories for my blog. Because if we can’t laugh at ourselves then what’s the point?

Oh my God. That is horrifying and I think I may love you. That was the funniest thing I have read in a very long time. I am so sorry that something so disgusting happened to you but at least you can make something good from the situation and look at it with some humor. That’s what gets us through life:) Best of luck with the new little one!

This is just brilliant. I laughed ’til I cried in a weirdly cathartic way. Not out loud, as I’m not completely heartless.

I’m forwarding the link to my two best friends, my sister & niece, which is the most telling of my enjoyment of this story, although “enjoyment” may not be quite the right word, as it sounds just weird to have “enjoyed” this story.

I really can’t scrape together much to say besides I’m so so so sorry, and I feel bad that I’m laughing my ass off anyway, and I’m joining many other commenters with a big Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. Oh, and I’m so so so sorry!!!!

I’m with the rest of your massage therapists on this one, being a therapist myself. I didn’t find this funny at all and I’ve actually had a client leave his mark after receiving a massage by me when I first started my internship hours in school. Don’t assume a therapist gives anyone a hand job. I recall this client continually squirming like he was uncomfortable (but subtle about his movements, so it didn’t occur to me that anything else was going on), then he took a few minutes longer than usual to come out of the room. After he left and I went back in to clean and remove sheets, that’s when I found out what he was doing and I was just as mortified and disgusted about it. His name just goes on a “black list” that says he’s not permitted back into that particular location of massage.

The state I’m in also claims that sheets can’t be pre-stacked to get clients in and out faster, but it is mandated by the cosmetology board which comes in for surprise inspections. The massage board doesn’t inspect physical spas, just background checks on therapists. Thus I know spas (including 4 star & up) that continue that practice because they know they won’t get inspected.

So sorry for your incident, but thank you for sharing it and letting others know. Hopefully it will gain enough interest to encourage better regulations within the spa environment.

Please call your Dept.of Health, your Sec. of State, the BBB. File complaints every avenue you can. Let them know what happened. The business needs to be fined,reprimanded,inspected,shut down. God awful experience for you. I would tell everyone I know about that disgusting,disrespectful,unprofessional,unsanitary place.
I hope you have an uneventful nineth month!

Good read, not in a good way. I can appreciate gallows humour, but such callow responses make it difficult to share such mortifying experiences. So..thanks. I can only imagine the stress of thinking you may have been infected or something…I can only say in retrospect that if the place didn’t specialise in pre-natal massage, or if Ine doesn’t have an existing relationship with the masseuse/masseur, I’d would avoid a place like that. However, it could have just ad easily have been your friend. Black lights it is;)

I had been there before and went again specifically because they offered pre-natal massage. I’d had two other massage therapists, though and this one was new to me. Part of what made getting into the bed difficult was maneuvering around the pillow you have to use.

I cut all those details from the monologue for time (plus, this isn’t a statement for the court, it’s a comedy piece), but I’d hate to give off the impression that I’d just wander into any old place and take my clothes off.

November 15, 2012
The writer (and human who likes to laugh) in me can’t help but love this.
The massage therapist in me (why does that sound demonic now?) is — wait for the word of the day — horrified.

Every county or city should have a department that handles massage licensing. If you’re sick to death of being Consumer Reporter, tell me the county and I’ll post a link to the licensing folks.
In descending order or people who need to be smacked upside the head:
Mr. Jizz
Mr. ‘All Up on Her’ Manager
Dr. Make a Terrible Joke
Dr. Dismiss Your Concerns
Ms. Maybe Now is Not the Time for Uninvited Hugs Receptionist
The Massage Therapist who should have known he was way beyond freaked out to give any kind of healing touch.

At our practice, we use two fitted sheets per client and remove them both after each massage. I optimistically thought this was the norm. But, we also have doors and don’t charge people when sperm from strangers is part of their experience.

OK bullshit. BS to the millionth power. YELL AND THROW SHIT. You are waaaaaaay too calm about all this. And yes, call the damn cops.

This is hilarious, but also outrageous…or just RAGEous…as in it should be causing rage. GET MAD, mama! I can guaran-damn-tee you that I would not have left that place without a police escort. And I’m not crazy or unreasonable.

Dude, really, is there still time to do something? Because that is unnacceptable, no matter how funny it is. (and it is really really funny)

That was a wonderful story that made me laugh and feel queasy at the same time. You’re a great storyteller.

BTW, the day I was diagnosed with GD, I had my wallet stolen and I had to get stitches IN my bellybutton when I had a precancerous mole removed (they found it only because my bellybutton had popped out with the pregnancy).

I am SO incredibly sorry that this happened to you, but I’m so glad that you exist, and that you shared this story with us in the perfect way that only you can.

Last week I came here and cried so hard that both of my contacts literally flooded out of my eyes and washed up on my cheeks. (Truly, I was so sorry for your loss that I couldn’t even say so here, I was just an impotent ball of sadness for you). This week I come here and you make me nearly cry just as much from laughing. You have a gift, you ARE a gift, and I am so glad that your newest gift is nearly here so that you can enjoy this new love of your life and no longer think about things like gestational diabetes or Stranger Spunk Danger.

I’m so glad you can laugh (and be so crazy funny) about this–though it should have never happened and it is totally disgusting. Plus, the establishment was so unprofessional I wanted to report them myself to the DOPH.

I specialize in prenatal massage, and I just want to say that I do not accept male clients, period. The official reason is that I wouldn’t have room for new pregnant clients, but mostly it is because you never know if one will, despite any encouragement, decide to leave their spunk on my table. My office is a no-spunk zone, thank you very much.

I do hope you find a better place to go. Don’t give up on massage, I know you need it!

what I am curious about is what a man was doing on a pregnancy massage table? Assuming this story is true and not actually a made up urban legend, if you were 8 months pregnant would you not be lying on a table with a hole for your belly? If so, why on earth would a man be on the table prior to you?
Seems a little fishy to me…pardon the pun

I’ve yet to see a pre-natal massage table with the hole. I hear they’re difficult because every belly is different. This was a day spa, not a place just for pre-natal massages, which is why it was co-ed. But I appreciate your attempts at super-sleuthing.

Amazing. A thousand slightly-more-frills salons should be calling you right now offering free scalp, feet, whatever massages. There is very little white lady problem justice in this world. I hope you get some!

But would you really want to go back there? I would want some other form of compensation. As in they not only gave me that massage free, but they give me gift certificates to some OTHER properly upscale massage parlor.

My friends give me shit all the time for never having had a massage, and having no desire to have one. “Get a massage,” they say. “It will be fun!” they say. Next time I hear that, I’m directing them to this post. I *knew* there was a reason I was avoiding these things.

Oh em gee!! I’m over due and let me tell you, you handled the situation way better than I ever would or could have. I would have lost it, and everyone of those people in the other tents would have known that there was a steaming pile of jizz left on the table in the dark room for my big pregnant ass to sit in! Then the massage therapist and manager would have had a very unpleasant conversation with me! I commend you for your restraint!! Please don’t ever go back there!!

I have been reading your blog forever. If I had just come across this entry as a first-timer, I would have been impressed with your writing and your wild imagination and had a great laugh.

But since I have been reading you since the Clinton administration [really], I know that you pretty much just dictated this shit like a court-reporter. My horror unraveled the more I read. “Girl, ew.” doesn’t cover it.

So all this to write:
Miss Pamela, I am so sorry about this. I really want to give you a hug. You just wanted a massage. That’s not a huge request. And you got an ass full of mystery semen. That is just dreadful. I don’t know anyone who I would wish that on.
So here is something cute and fluffy:http://static.desktopnexus.com/thumbnails/12426-bigthumbnail.jpg

I never want to touch anything, ever again. Or be pregnant ever. And I can’t decide if it would be better or worse not to be pregnant in that situation. Not being pregnant would mean it would be easier to jump off the table, which would mean less time rolling around in the mystery jizz, but then you would actually have the opportunity to worry about being impregnated by a guy who gets jacked off at massage parlors. This made my day, so thank you.

Oh, hecks no…You are a much nicer person than me. Not only would I have my friends boycott the place, but their business name would have already been on the first page of a Google search after I did a raving review about them…that’s just plain nasty. Maybe you could have scooped it up with one of their business objects and shoved it in the manager’s nose to smell? Wow…

I am so sorry you had to go through that disgusting experience! I own a massage therapy clinic dedicated to women that specializes in pregnancy. If you ever make it up to Ottawa, Canada I will give you a free treatment.

My day job is at a chain/franchise massage clinic, and my question is, “What the fuck?” What state do you live in? In most states, the massage parlors/clinics/spas are all under the authority of the state health department. I live in Washington State. Stacking sheets is against protocol and we fire therapists who do it. Any therapist who is involved in an incident even approaching the level of yours would be automatically suspended while the incident was being investigated. The police would have been called. Your massage would have been comped and a different therapist, one of your same gender, would have taken over your care, if you wished to continue. A thorough and detailed account of the incident would have been recorded and forwarded to the franchisee, the regional manager, and the state, as well as the police department. The prior client would have been questioned by the police and possibly arrested.
In case you’re wondering, this is a serious, very grave incident. We in the wellness industry never take our clients’ well being for granted. Please accept my apologies for this incident ever happening to any person, EVER. You should not have had this happen in your life. I hope you remain well and have a wonderful and healthy baby.

If it had been me, there would have been a hell of a lot of “playground” voice (some people think I’m shouting and then I shout to clarify the difference. And if they’re really obtuse, I then scream, to show them that’s different, too.)

At Whole Foods once, I found out that the sushi guy was using some gluten thingy in what should have been very clean, safe (for raw fish, anyway) sushi. As I’m gluten-intolerant and this was going to give me a sick week in bed, I tried to file a complaint. But there was a management meeting going on, so all the people with authority were unavailable, and the guy at the service desk didn’t speak English well enough to know what gluten was. He told me I couldn’t talk to a manager. Well. That was a Dumb Thing to say.

Because then I got loud. And Louder. And LOUDER. I saved the shouting and screaming for when most of the management team had crowded around, and I was very very loud about Whole Foods POISIONING me. Geez, they really ask for it when they don’t understand that their primary position should be GROVEL.

So if it was me, I’m pretty sure they would have had to completely change their business, because those tents wouldn’t have kept any neighboring businesses from hearing every detail. I would probably have called the police and had them take a DNA sample. I would have scared all the other clients into running into the street covered only by their jizzed up sheets.

I admire you for keeping your cool. Your baby is probably going to be much happier and healthier because you didn’t fall apart about it. But if you want me to come SPEAK VERY LOUDLY to them, I’d do that. Even though I’ve never been to your blog before (Bloggess tip).

I hope you have a wonderful, calm little baby and this becomes just a hysterical memory.

I am a massage therapist and I am completely, utterly horrified. There is no reason for anything like this to ever happen. Not ever. And the fact that they didn’t say, of course your service, and your friends service, will absolutely be free. It sounds like a fully sketchy place to start with, you definitely need to find a new place.

All that said, I love your telling and I couldn’t help but laugh. It is fully horrifying, fully hysterical.

Pam, I can’t believe how calm you stayed through all of that and that you had to go through it. I am so sorry! I know it’s been a couple months now but I would continue to follow up on this. If the manager never contacted you back I would write him again and tell him of your concerns and that it feels like he isn’t taking this situation seriously. Take it to the press if you need to. You can stay annon if you want but people around there have a right and reason to know not to go there!

Oh. My. God.
I’m never going to a massage place again. This had me laughing with a permanent look of disgust. Your calmness is amazing. I really hope everything works out ok in the end for you.
Stay strong, and keep that sense of humor!

Good lord, girl!! I thought I had it bad at very plus sized 31 weeks with gestational diabetes! Thank you for being the chosen one so I don’t have to. This kind of thing could only happen to you, or me. Thank you for the laugh and the boiling rage. I commend you for not just exploding. I would have gone off the deep end and probably just given birth right there so I could leave the mess just to spite them. Or I wouldn’t have slept until the place was shut down and I had free massages for life from the nicest place in town at their nasty ass expense.

I’m never, ever getting pregnant OR getting a massage now. Ever. But I thank you for making the bad day I just had go away for a while as I laughed at yours. I know everything must be fine and healthy for you now so I don’t feel bad laughing.

This reminds me of a time I got into a NYC cab on a hot summer day. Put my hand in the back of the seat to brace myself as I slid over to make room for my sister. Some guy’s disgusting back sweat was covering the seat and now my arm. Barf.

Oh, my that was a brilliantly written hilarious story. Yes, it was about your outrage and horror, but like a masterful storyteller you turned it into something that had me laughing so hard my teens came in to ask what was so funny!

I’ve had a massage in a place like that (although not a prenatal one) so the visual I had with your words was crystal clear.

First time I’ve read your work and I look forward to reading future & past stories.

Although… with kids there is sure to be MANY more bodily fluid stories. Just don’t take them to a McDonalds PlayPlace when they’re potty training. Just don’t! Cuz its very embarrassing to tell the pimply faced employee that your son, may or may not have left a poop somewhere in the tubes when he came down naked as you scamper away as fast as you can.

On the one hand, I am so unbelievably sorry that happened to you. On the other hand, I’ve had a rough day and reading this made me feel quite a bit better. And guilty. Because stranger jizz on pregnant women shouldn’t make me feel better about my life.

OK, first of all, I was horrified, and laughing, and more horrified. At work. Where everyone is looking at me weird because apparently I have odd horrified/hysterical faces. Also, my job happens to be answering 9-1-1 calls. So, horrified is difficult for me.

That being said, I would TOTALLY sue their asses! I mean, that is a bodily fluid – a BIOHAZARD. That is something a HAZMAT team should have to clean up with goggles and gloves and special viral-killing cleaning agents. Get my drift? Hospitals don’t even handle PEE without facemasks.

Anyway. I am in Texas where we don’t sue. We just pull out a shotgun and take care of the problem. But, in this case, I would want more satisfaction. I would want the shop closed down. Clearly they were not appalled at the situation enough to even see the deeper issues.

Either way, I did laugh. Still not an OK thing to happen, but made me laugh.

The biggest red flag for me in this (I was a massage therapist years ago) is that they load up the table with layers of sheets and just peel off the top one or 2 in between. Really??? I would first lay a towel down to protect my table from the oil, then throw on a fitted sheet and a top sheet. It would take no time at all to remove all after a client, spray and wipe down the table, and get it ready for the next client. That is just disgusting to me.

OHhhhh my gosh. I died laughing at this and then felt bad because there is no way in hell you made this up. My friend shared and this will forever be my favorite post. Damn men. Always getting us stuck in sticky situations.

As a professional LMT, it is against the law to layer your sheets. If I got caught doing this I would loose my job immediately. You should definitely report this to the state massage board, as well as the health board. I completely agree it is very frustrating to have management refuse to get rid of problem clients. Often as an LMT we are subjected to sexual harassment because management doesn’t want to loose the money for a client that returns just to sexually harass the massage therapist. Also just for the record any place that does not have private rooms, is shady to begin with most of those places do not have licenced massage therapists on their staff.

You should scream it from the rooftops! As a massage therapist this is not only a horrible story but a criminal one! All sheets, anything that has touched a client, should be changed and the bed wiped down between clients… Especially for a pregnancy client!

A true professional would have offered you a free massage. If, God forgive me, anything like this happened I would offer to pay for a massage with another therapist. And I am that client who would have run through the place screaming ‘get out’.
If you are in a place that you need a flashlight…get out! If you are sharing a space… Get out! If you touch something creepy…get out!

Poor thing! I hope you’ve gotten a good massage since the incident. But please Yelp it, Facebook it and report it to the local better business bureau. These people make us all look bad. .